The Sister Story
by Padfoot's Bitch
Summary: Rating a precation for now, but may go up later. OK, it'll start involving the LA crew in the next few chapters, but not alot.
1. Default Chapter

Hey, this is a story about a girl named jade… supposedly. It's a sister story to Penning Fantasy's "The Beat Goes On". I would suggest reading that first, but it won't be really necessary until later chapters.

To get all the legal shit out of the way, I only own things that you don't recognize from the movies or anywhere else barring my other stories.

Please note that many characters in this story are in fact real people, so if I get facts wrong, I'm sorry in advance.

Also, there will be many songs throughout this story, some are mine, some aren't, so I reserve the right to yell, cuss, and annoy your brains out if I see my songs elsewhere.

Without further ado, the prologue.

I can't believe it. She lied to me. She promised she'd never lie to me. But she did.

OK, maybe I should back up a bit. I'm Jade. Jade Ellen Henning. At least I thought I was, up until two hours ago.

All I wanted was insurance. Nice simple plan from State Farm for my baby. My baby. I couldn't live without my baby. She's the most beautiful little girl I've ever seen. Just looking at her puts a smile on my face. She's just this little bundle of energy.

In all actuality, she's not very little, unless you think a bit on the short side is little. And the energy? It's like a herd of horses. Restless horses. About 750 of them.

Yeah, that's right. My baby's a car. But aint just any car. She's a '78 Chev Camaro with custom _everything_. You name it, from her paint job to her tranny to her headlights. All custom designed by yours truly. She glows in the dark. Not in the conventional term, but at night, when there's so little light that you're trippin' over your shoes 'cause you can't see 'em, you look at her and can't help but notice. One second she's purple, the next she's black, the next she's green, and the next she's blue. The only way anyone can describe it is 'mysticolor', short for mystery color.

With all her purple accessories, you'll be hard pressed to figure out our favorite color. Yes, OUR favorite. My favorite because it's the only thing she looks good in. Her favorite because it's the only thing she looks good in. With the purple under-neons, purple light up spinners (16 inch), and reversible purple/white headlights, not to mention our flame kit(guess what color it spews?), people notice us.

Actually, people notice her. I'm just her… I guess you could call me her tamer. I keep her in check, make sure she breaks enough hearts.

But back to me.

I was filling out the paperwork from the insurance agency when I saw that they wanted a copy of my birth certificate. No biggie, my mom keeps all the important stuff(birth certificate, medical records, dental records, report cards, ect…) in a file cabinet in the corner. Opening up to the "J" section, I quickly flipped through to the back of my file and was surprised to find a stapled together packet of papers instead of the single paper that is my birth certificate. Ignoring the packet, I grabbed my certificate and put my still open file on the table.

Going to the computer, I scanned the piece of paper and soon had a copy of it coming out of the printer. I was waiting for the ink to dry when something caught my eye.

It was small, only two letters, but it destroyed my life as I knew it. CA. CA should not be anywhere on my birth certificate, especially in capital letters, because capital letters that happen to be CA mean California.

I couldn't move. I just sat there staring at the two little letters that I knew were about to ruin my life. Five minutes went by. Then ten. Then fifteen. As the twenty minute mark approached, I dared to look somewhere else on the paper.

Los Angeles.

That was written right before CA. Above that it said "City of Birth". That's when I knew she'd betrayed me. My own mother. According to her, I was born in Kirkland, Washington. A far cry from Los Angeles, California. Approximately a 36 hour drive if you do the speed limit and only stop to pee and eat.

I didn't look at the certificate anymore. It disgusted me. I already knew my mom lied about where I was born, I knew the rest of the paper was probably lies too.

Well, if the city I was born in was a lie… Curious, I went back to the table and looked at my file, still open to the packet of papers. I started at the top, got about 1 inch and knew what the rest was. In that small inch of paper I looked at was what I'd feared and, somewhere deep down, known for quite some time.

"American Adoption Agency".

Without even looking at the paper in my hand or in front of my face, I ran into my room. Grabbing my overly large and now unused backpack I started stuffing things into it. I started with clothes, enough to last me a week. Then in went my CD case which took up a lot of room, but left enough for whatever else I wanted to take. Next went nail polish(I have an unhealthy obsession with it), then what little makeup I keep in my room(most was in my car already), and what was left of my jewelery(also mostly in my car).

Looking around my room for anything I had missed, I thanked God for the fact that I was almost 18 and Mom pretty much let me come and go as I pleased so long as I called occasionally to let her know I was alive. Because of this, I keep most of my stuff in my car rather than drag it out every time I'm going to spend the night elsewhere.

Diving under my bed, I pried up the loose floorboard and took everything from under it. That consisted of several sizeable rolls of money and a large change jar. How did a 17 year old girl that still lives with her mother get almost twenty rolls of $5,000, you may ask? Simple. Every Friday night people pay me large sums of money for a ten second adrenaline rush.

OK, they don't exactly pay me, but they might as well. It's all the little rich boys who think they can race me in their little imports with a few grand in mods under the hood. They're naïve little pricks. I'm Queen of the Seattle streets. My baby and I are undefeated.

So, back to my story.

Turning off my light, I walked out of the room and down the hallway. Down the stairs. Out the front door. Straight to my baby.

I had to move fast, my mom and step-dad would be home from grocery shopping soon. Opening the trunk, I pushed my backpack in between one of my two sports bags that are stuffed with clothes and my bag with toiletries and makeup and stuff.

After closing the trunk, I went to the drivers' side door and unlocked it, getting in and starting Cam up. Yes, I named my car…

I pulled away from the curb with a screech of my tires. That was 35 minutes ago.

Now, I'm turning onto a street lined with houses on the outskirts of Redmond. Slowly, I go down the street, trying not to look into the houses and see all the happy families that I usually do. Getting to the third house from the end of the street, I pull into the driveway.

Cutting the engine, I get out –locking my door of course- and look up at the one story house. I can see a couple lights on, but just enough for one to be able to see their way around. Listening, I can hear music blasting and look down to see that all the basement lights are on.

I look back at the driveway. Yup, only one car besides Cam. Talk about heaven. I allowed myself a small smile thinking about the sight I knew I'd be greeted with.

:: Bad JJ, he doesn't see you that way!:: said the little voice in my head.

I'm thinking about Lenny of course. He's 25 years old, seven and a half years older than me, and my best friend in the world. He's also the guy I've been in love with since I met him when I was 14.

I'm taller than most girls, standing at 5 feet 8 inches, but Len absolutely towers over me, not to mention about every other person on the planet, him being 6'6" an' all. He has white-blond hair that he keeps at a length somewhere between too short and too long, usually spiking it out, and the most amazing eyes I've ever seen. They're such a bright crystal blue that they seem to glow violet at times.

Going around to the side of the house, I bound down the steps that lead to the basement door, knowing that he left it unlocked, since I didn't want to dig out my spare key that he gave me, and he was downstairs anyways. Slipping through the door, I found myself in a hallway. To my immediate right there's a staircase going up to the kitchen. To my left is a bathroom/ laundry room. At the end of the hall, there are two more doors. One led to a weight room, the other to a private recording studio. The weight room door is open, music and light blaring out.

Smiling, I start down the hall. As I approach the door, I suddenly remember why exactly I'm here and my smile vanishes instantly, replaced by a frown and eyes close to tears. Taking a deep breath, I took two more steps and found myself looking into the weight room, watching Lenny go at the punching bag suspended from the ceiling.

Without calling attention to myself, which I actually hate when the other person(s) isn't named Lenny (who's attention is the only I want anywhere near me), I watched him for a minute. All he had on was a pair of workout pants, riding low on his hips, showing off his perfect eight-pack and pecs, and don't even get me started on those arms…

As the last strains of Aerosmith's "Dream On" died away, Len stopped and turned around to grab his water bottle. Not looking up to see me, he started walking my way for a towel to wipe the sweat off with, much to my chagrin. I know I'm bad, but what's wrong with a girl wanting to see a totally gorgeous guy all hot and sweaty?

Spying the towel on a chair by the door I held it out to him. He took it with a quiet "Thanks" and started to turn around before realizing that there was someone else in the room and whipping back around so fast I think he almost hurt himself.

As he registered that it was just me, I hugged myself.

"J, what are you…" he trailed off, seeing me about to start crying and looking at the ground. "What happened? What's wrong?"

I couldn't answer him. Just thinking about it made a lump rise in my throat, constricting it. I sniffled and vainly attempted to hold back my tears.

Hearing me sniffle, he grew concerned. I know why. I never cry. Even when I was a baby I didn't cry a lot. I can remember the last time I cried vividly. It was the summer before I met Len, and my grandpa was in the hospital. He'd almost died three times in less than 24 hours.

But no matter how hard I tried to stop them, the tears just wouldn't stay. Once one escaped, they all went. In what seemed like no time at all I was shuddering, sobbing, trying to catch my breath, stop the tears. But I couldn't.

After standing in shock for a moment, Lenny reached out and drew me against his chest, hugging me, telling me it would be alright, that he just needed to know what happened and that he would kick the ass of whoever did whatever to me. Seeing he was getting nowhere, he slowly sat the both of us down so that he was cross-legged with me in his lap, my head on his shoulder, my arms around his waist.

Any other time I would be ecstatic to be in this position with him, but I'm not exactly thinking clearly.

Ten minutes later, my sobs had been reduced to sniffles, but Lenny was still holding me to him almost like he was afraid of losing me. I can understand that. He's never seen me show much negative emotion. Around him, and in my life in general, I'm a pretty content person. Not exactly happy or optimistic, but I'm not about to try and kill myself again. Yeah, again, but that's another story.

"JJ, what happened?" he asked again. Pulled against his chest, I could feel the vibration his voice made when he spoke.

I just sat there, trying to calm down. A minute later, I could tell he was about to ask again, and just cut him off.

"She lied to me." It barely came out at a whisper, but he heard me.

"Who, baby girl? Who lied?" he asked, reverting to his own little nickname for me.

"Mom." Again a whisper.

"About what?" I can hear surprise and confusion with a side of worry in his voice. I can understand that too. My mom and I are like best friends. I never really had many friends growing up, so I spent a lot of time with her. Neither of us could ever keep a secret from each other for long.

"About what?" Len asked again when I didn't answer.

"Me." Still whispering. Before he can press me more, I turned my head sideways so I could see his face, then I asked, "Can I stay here?"

He looked down at me surprised. "You don't even need to ask, you know that."

"Thanks," I said, yawning and closing my eyes.

"Let's get you to bed," Lenny said quietly, putting one arm around my back and the other under my knees then standing up. I could feel him stand up and start walking. A minute later, we walked into "my" room. It was really just one of the two guest rooms, but I keep clothes and toiletries in here because I've ended up crashing here more often than not over the last three years.

In the back of my mind, I'm thankful that I'm in clothes comfortable enough to sleep in, terrycloth shorts and a tanktop, because I don't have the energy to change as I'm already practically asleep.

Lenny put me down on the bed then pulled down the comforter and sheets for me to crawl under, which I did quickly, because my room is cold since I leave the window open unless I absolutely have to close it. I was just drifting off to dreamland when I felt Len kiss my forehead and hear him whisper "Sweet dreams, baby girl," before I went to sleep with a tiny smile on my face.


	2. 2

Please note that I do use a real band in here, Point 1, and the real people from the band, mostly Len, but the lives I created for this story are exactly that - created to suit the story. The lives of these people are much different from the lives I outline here.

The next morning, Sunday morning I remembered, I woke up at four o'clock. I'm perfectly fine with that, since I'm both a morning person and a nightowl, I'm pretty diverse in my sleeping habits. Grabbing clean undies, a pair of black loose cotton workout pants, and a black sports bra, I changed then went to the bathroom and brushed my teeth.

Grabbing a comb off my dresser in my room then walking over to my sidetable by my bed and grabbing the spiral notebook I kept in the drawer(making sure the pencil was sharp and still in the page I was last working on) , I went out into the living room at the back of the house. In he living room, there is a HUGE bay window with a comfortable three foot by six foot upholstered sill to sit on. It's my second favorite place in the house, the first being in the private recording studio.

Setting my stuff down, I went over to the entertainment center and put in my favorite CD. That's one of the few ways to embarrass Lenny, just mention my favorite CD. It's Point 1's "Stress Related Injuries". Why he would be embarrassed about it, I have no idea. I would think it would be a compliment, my favorite CD being one that he wrote most of, and recorded, and produced, right here in this house.

Len's in a band, by the way. He's the lead singer. That would be why he has a recording studio and full band setup in his basement; so that the guys wouldn't have to load their instruments up in their cars, drive here, rehearse, load their instruments back up and drive them home… it's just easier this way. Anywho, putting the CD on – quietly, since Len is a very light sleeper- I sat down on the window sill and took my hair out of it's almost permanent bun.

I know this will sound kind of corny, but my hair is a good example of me; my life. I almost always have it up in a bun. It's how people expect to see my hair every day. If I do anything else, it attracts attention to me. If it's up in a bun, people just overlook me. Because people overlook me, they never really look at my hair. Never notice that it's so long it completely covers my ass, or that it isn't just dark brown, it has tiny highlights throughout in all the colors of my car- black, blue, green, and purple.

When people see me with my hair up, they expect me to be a quiet, shy, smart person. And I am, don't get me wrong. Actually I'm not all that smart, but oh well. Because I'm around all these people who expect to see me with my hair up, I literally almost never get to let my hair down. That's why I have music. Music is one of the few things that I can just lose my self in.

: I will suffocate, every breath you take,

Put you in a cage, something you can appreciate,

Take away every single pain,

Your greatest weakness you begin to imagine,

Separate all mistakes you make,

Put you in a state so that you will appreciate yourself in vain to lose again:

Chemical Religion. First song on the CD. As I start to slowly work the tangles out of my hair, I think about the song itself. Not just the lyrics, all they do is put words to what the music is already saying. Listening to the guitar/drum combination, I think :: Was Len having an incident of foretelling my future when he wrote and recorded this?:: Of course, he hadn't even met me when he wrote or recorded this, but it seems to be telling my thoughts to the world.

:What's the matter with you?

All I wanna do is just lose myself,

In my chemical religion,

So send me deeper, deeper, so I can feel myself::

I lip-sync the words as I forget. Not the music, I'd die without the music. I'd like to lose myself in chemical religion. And not drugs. Chemistry was my favorite class in high school, it still would be if I hadn't graduated two years early. By my sophmore year I was in the most advanced science class available, and I had learned the whole years syllabus in less than one semester. By the next, I started going to free community college to take math and science courses. Because of the credits I got at the college, my teachers at the high school just started assigning me essays for credit, since I was learning the material so fast. Occasionally they'd have me come in for tests, usually every month or so, to make sure I was retaining all the information. By June that year, I had all my necessary high school credits to graduate, so I did.

:I will stimulate the senses in your brain,

Help you compensate for the headache that you can't evade,

Help alleviate the stress of your day,

Just lose yourself in me, 'cause I can be anything,

Simply stated, I'm overrated,

What's the matter with you?:

Wincing as I hit a tangle – I have a very tender head – I start thinking about what little time I get to spend in the studio. I'm not all that good of a musician, so when the only place to record is a musician's house you don't really want to do it in front of them or with them. As such, the only time I really have to record is the one weekend every two months that Lenny takes to go visit his mother in Spokane and about an hour and a half on Sundays while he's at church. I've made good use of my time that I do have though. I've laid down several tracks, even re-done a couple songs by bands or singers that I like.

:All I wanna do is just lose myself in my chemical religion,

All I wanna do is just lose myself in my chemical religion,

All I wanna do is just lose myself in my chemical religion,

So send me deeper, deeper so I can feel myself,

So send me deeper, deeper, I wanna feel myself,

But I'm still alive, I can't change here,

I'm still alive, and it's makin' me so weird:

Music is something I'm interested in, so I remember it very well. If I'm interested in something, I remember it, simple as that. Example: it took me about five days to memorize the Periodic Table of the Elements, but over five years to memorize the fifty states. Cars, music, math, science, computers, those are my biggest interests, so I know a lot about them because every little tidbit I hear about those things, I file away for later use.

I have a catalogue of songs in my head. First I separate them by genre(rock, country, ect.), then by artist (Aerosmith, Kenny Chesney,ect), then by CD, then song. Music is one of the things I'm brutally honest about, even with my hair up. I critique hard and I'm nitpicky. I know what people like to hear, and I totally disregard it in favor of the full, honest to God truth.

:All I wanna do is just lose myself in my chemical religion,

All I wanna do is just lose myself in my chemical religion,

All I wanna do is just lose myself in my chemical religion,

So send me deeper, deeper so I can feel myself,

Send me deeper, deeper, I wanna feel myself,

But I'm still alive, I can't change here,

I'm still alive, and it's makin' me soooo, makin' me sooo, yeah, makin' me sooooo,

Weird.:

End of song.

Well, I think you've heard enough about me with my hair up, how 'bout I tell you a bit about me with my hair down?

Len's the only person who ever sees me with my hair down, and even then not often, because I know that he knows I'm the same person no matter whether my hair is up, down or sideways. I'm comfortable enough around him to be the real me. As the song ends, I get the last few tangles out of my hair and turn off the CD player before 'Wrecking Ball' even starts.

Leaving my spiral notebook on the sill, I start walking through the house toward the kitchen then the basement, braiding my hair along the way, thinking that I'd get the book put away before Len's alarm goes off at 7:15, which was still almost two hours away.

Going into the weight room, I start stretching out, not bothering with music. When I work out, it's all or nothing, even the music. Either it's blaring enough that I can't hear myself think, or there isn't any at all. At this time of the morning, I don't really have a choice of which.

After stretching thoroughly, I start on my daily 50 pushups and 200 sit-ups. A bit overboard, I know, but I figure if God had to make me ugly, stupid, and talentless, I can at least be thin while I take what was given to me with a smile and middle finger pointed heavenward.

As I get to my hundredth sit-up, I start feeling like I forgot something. Approaching 150, the feeling grows stronger. 175 brings a new feeling. And a weird feeling it brings, too. Relief. I put on some speed to finish 200 before getting up off the ground and going upstairs to get a bottle of water, figuring that's what I forgot. As I close the fridge and turn around to go back downstairs, I notice the light in the living room on.

::OK, I KNOW that I turned that off.:: That's when I remembered. Today's Sunday. Len wakes up at 5:30 on Sundays to be able to leave the house by 6:30 and be at church by 6:50 for mass at 7:00.

And now Lenny's in the living room, the TV not on, I can't hear it. Alone. With my songbook.

A streak of panic runs through me. I take a deep breath to calm myself down and start walking quietly towards the living room as casually as I can. Stepping into the room, I close my eyes and set the bottle down with a thunk, stretching. When I open my eyes, Len's looking at me, with my songbook open in his hands.

My eyes go between his face and his hands. After a minute, I focus on his face, raising an eyebrow.

"It was just sitting here, so I opened it to make sure it wasn't mine; then I started reading…" he explained without any guilt in his voice at all.

I didn't respond. I couldn't. My mouth was shut and seemed determined to stay that way. Well, if my mouth won't work, my legs and arms sure do. I quickly walked over and yanked the notebook out of his hands, slamming it shut, and all but ran to my room, closing the door and promptly wishing I had a lock on it as he came through it about 2 seconds after me.

My notebook is one that's divided into five sections, or subjects. I wasn't worried about him seeing the middle three sections, they're just numbers that he probably wouldn't be able to make sense of without seeing the first section. That's the one I really didn't want him seeing, along with the last.

The first section is my lyrics. Each song has a number in the top corner with a little code of my own making that consists of four letters; B,G,D,R. Some songs have all four, some have none, but most have a combination of B,G, or D. Let me explain.

Section 1: Lyrics

Section 2: Bass guitar sequences

Section 3: Guitar sequences

Section 4: Drum sequences

So, the fifth section has to do with the "R" right, since sections 2-4 tell the B, D, and G. If you guessed that, you're right. See, the fifth section I have made into a CD holder. In the occupied pouches that I handmade with a little glue and some scissors, there is CD's that have tracks that I've recorded on them. On the front of every pouch, there is the song number, song title, length, and the date I recorded it on.

I could deal with him knowing that I write songs then put music to them, but if Len saw that I have them recorded he'd want to listen to them. And when I'd say "no" he'd give me the puppy-dog face and I'd let him listen, then he'd hate them and be embarrassed to be around me because I suck so bad.

But right now, he's standing in front of me. We're in a staring competition, each of us daring the other to speak first.

Well, if he wants to play that way, let the games begin.


	3. 3

He broke at three minutes.

"Well, I know what I was looking at, but I don't know why you don't want me looking at it. Maybe you could elaborate a bit here…" Len said.

"Maybe because I suck with the whole music thing…" I retorted as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"And the fact that I could try to help you improve?" Len questioned, cementing the idea that he was going to fight this until he heard me sing or play at least one song, probably more.

"'Try' being the operative there." Fighting about this is perfectly OK with me, especially since I had leverage.

"If you suck so bad, why'd you record?" OK, he had me there.

"Exactly how long were you looking through this?" Dodge.

"I opened up to the back first. You gunna answer my question?" Retaliation.

"Curiosity killed the cat." I'm good at this.

"Satisfaction brought him back." But, unfortunately, so is Lenny.

"But then what would he have to live for?" But I'm still better. All I got from that was a raised eyebrow. "Wouldn't you rather die knowing that you lived to find something out than come back to life knowing that what you previously lived for was gone?"

He looks like he's thinking about something. "But how is it gone?"

"It's not the thing that's gone, it's the curiosity that drove you to find out what it was. The thing is still there, but the emotion attached to it is gone." Jade, 1; Lenny, 0.

Shaking his head quickly, Len seems to get annoyed. "Stop trying to change the subject!" he says. Yup, he's annoyed.

We're both silent for a moment. Then he scores a hit below the belt. "I thought we were friends."

I look at him for a minute, gauging his emotions. That's something I am good at. To everyone else, Lenny may as well not have emotions for as well as they can see them. But I know the signs. Twitching his foot means he's anxious, crossed arms means he doesn't like something, flared nostrils means he's pissed off, and if he starts grinding his teeth it means everyone better steer clear, because Mt. Lenny is about to blow.

Right now, his eyebrows are drawn together and his foot is starting to twitch. Can this be for real? Lenny, who isn't afraid of anything, is a bit scared of what my answer might or might not be?! Great, now I'm freaked out. I have to handle this situation delicately.

Sighing, I close my eyes and rub my temples. "You know you're my best friend, Len."

Flared nostrils. Oh shit. "Then why won't you let me see or hear your music?"

"I have my reasons," I say slowly.

"What, do you not trust me enough to let me hear your stuff? Huh? Is that it?" Let me tell you now, there are very few things that someone can say to me that really piss me off. Accusing me of not trusting someone that I do with my life is one of those few things.

"Yes, actually, I do, but many of the songs are about you, and I'm afraid that if you hear them you'll figure it out and never speak to me again," I say quietly. I was quiet, but I know he heard me. He also knows that when I start getting quiet it's a really, really, **really** bad sign. I once didn't talk to my sister for 2 and ½ years because she put my life in danger without my clearly stated consent, something else that really pisses me off, but, again, that's another story.

His eyebrows are now in the "Oh, shit, I just fucked up" position. He also seems surprised, probably about what I said.

Before he can apologize, I cut him off by tossing the book his way. "All yours, just don't listen to them around me and don't try to talk to me about them." With that I walked out of the room, turning sideways so that I didn't touch him. This time I have no inhibitions about running. I run all the way through the house, down the stairs, into the weight room, and turn on my heel to close and lock the door. Having done that, I turned to the sound system and popped in my favorite 'angry chick' music, Meredith Brooks "Blurring The Edges" and turn the volume up to ¾ blast. I'd put it up all the way, but it's still 5:45 in the morning and I don't want to wake up the neighbors, an old married couple that seem to like me.

Going over to the punching bag, I start working out to the drums. I use a different move for each drum in the set that's hit. Because of this, I'm often doing two or three moves at a time. It's a very good thing that I have good balance. Being pissed off helps. I hit the bag harder, which works my muscles harder, and makes me sweat more, which means I can get straight into the shower after I finish and not give Lenny the time to talk to me.

Spin, kick, jab, roundhouse, kick, kick, punch, hook. I lose myself in the moves, relishing in pushing my quickly fatiguing muscles to their max. I don't know or care how long I stayed down there, but when I finally came to my senses, the CD was starting it's second round. I look at the clock.

6:30. Lenny has to be gone by now. He better hope he listens to those CD's, 'cause if that's what he wanted, I'll be even more pissed if he doesn't listen to them.

Toweling off, I half walk, half jog upstairs to the bathroom. With a thought, I get in the shower, washing me body quickly but not even taking my hair out of it's braid. Once I'm clean, I wrap a towel around myself and go across the hall into my room. The notebook isn't in there. Good. Pulling on black silk, g-string panties and a matching bra, I shuffle through my drawers, finding black slacks and a button-up, long sleeved, business shirt. Putting these on, I pulled socks out of my drawer, slipping them on as I walked out of my room, also grabbing my wallet and slipping it into a back pocket and, keys in hand, walked out to my car.

Opening the trunk, I pulled forward and zipped open my big bag of shoes, grabbing black knee-high boots with a three-inch heel. Slamming my trunk, I went up to the driver's side door, unlocking it and sitting sideways so my feet are hanging out the door. Hitching up my pantlegs, I pull on the boots and turn into a driving position.

Closing my door hard, I start up my baby and put her into reverse, backing out of the driveway.

It takes about twenty minutes to get from here to the Redmond Church of the Nazarene. I made it in ten. At 6:54, I whipped into the parking lot and straight into a spot, cut the engine, and locked the doors as I got out and hurried into the comparatively small church. Going in the double doors, I look around and see everyone's already congregated in the sanctuary, but Todd hasn't started mass yet.

::Good, late enough that no one will notice me come in, but not late enough that everyone notices me come in.:: I think, slipping into one of the seats at the back.

No one will expect me to be here. Everyone knows me, but I never come to Sunday mass. I'm here Wednesday nights for teen nights and I go to all the church functions, but I've never come to Sunday morning mass before. I wouldn't today either, but I feel like having a little chat with the Holy Father up north.

I can see Lenny up front, next to Mrs. Anderson, an elderly lady who was widowed a few years back. A few rows from the front is Mrs. and Mrs. Hall and their daughter (my other best friend) Courtney.

As I was about to start looking for Todd, the pastor, Lenny got up and walked back to Courtney. They talked for a minute then he walked back to his place in front. Being at the opposite back corner from the both of them, I couldn't hear what they said or see their faces to lip read, a weird but useful skill of mine. I start wondering what they'd said. Was Len telling C what happened? Asking advice?

I was pulled out of my musings as everyone stopped talking. Looking up, I see Todd behind the podium, scanning the sanctuary as if he could tell there was something, some number or figure, off in the sizeable room. As his eyes get to me, I shake my head frantically as surprise registers on his face. Thankfully, he masks it before anyone else notices and looks back.

Todd starts his prepared mass quickly after that, though his eyes came to rest on me often as he looked at the fifty or so people in the room. Before I know it, Todd is telling everyone that we'll be singing "Sing" to warm up, then a new (or old, in this case) song from the old testament in Hebrew called "Do Di Li." I'm perfectly happy with that and suddenly glad that I had three years of choir at school. "Sing use to be a favorite warmup, and "Do Di Li" has a catchy tune, even though the lyrics, when translated, sound kind of weird.

Quietly, I start singing along to "Sing".

"Sing, allelu- allelu- allelujah,

Sing allelu- allelu- allelujah,

Sing, sing , sing allelu- amen"

We repeated that five times then Todd's wife, who played piano through the hymns, said she'd sing Do Di Li through once then we'd sing it. I lip-synced as she sang, getting slightly annoyed as she sang the soprano instead of the alto part in the second line of the chorus. I hate singing soprano. I was thankful at the end when she said if we didn't want to sing that high, we could just reapeat the first line of the chorus during the second.

Then we got going.

"Do-di-li, va-ni-lo, ha-ro-e, ba-sho-sha-nim,

Do-di-li, va-ni-lo, ha-ro-e, ba-sho-sha-nim,"

First chorus wasn't too bad, but I didn't really want to hear these people decimate the verses, which were difficult to get the hang of, both the words and the notes.

"Mi-zot-o-la, min-ha-mid-bar, mi-zot-o-la,

M'-ku-te-ret, mor-u-le-vo-na, mor-u-le-vo-na,"

I was right. It sucked, though it was pretty good for a first time thing. As we finished the semi-lengthy song I had to cringe at some of the slaughtering of words. The notes I can handle, but with the words… it annoys the Hell outta me, especially if I know how to do it correctly. I know that C can sing this correctly, she was always in choir with me, and there were a couple people who seemed to know it, but, still… And I know Courtney was in as much agony as me, so that kinda made it a little better, knowing I'm not the only one.

As Todd said a prayer to close the mass, I said a little prayer of my own.

::Hey, Father, I know we haven't spoken in awhile, but I need advice, and I wouldn't trust anyone else. See, I recently found out that the person I've thought was my mother my whole life isn't. I don't know what to do, what to think. Heck, I don't even know my own name anymore. I'm lost. What should I do? If you could, I don't know, channel a message through Todd or something, I'd appreciate it. Amen::

Crossing myself, I looked up to see everyone's heads still bent down in prayer, Todd's voice asking for a safe return for all the soldiers in Iraq. Having a feeling that that would be the end of the prayer, I silently snuck out the propped open door right next to me and walked across the hall to Todd's office, closing the door almost all the way before sitting down in one of the chairs across from his desk.

A few moments later, I heard a great shuffling in the hallway intersection and voices as people went into the kitchen or rec room or down to the nursery to get younger kids and knew that mass was over.8:00. I waited. At 8:15 the door opened and Todd walked into the room, closing the door after himself, then noticed me and jumped about two feet in the air.

Putting a hand over his heart, Todd said, "Don't scare me like that."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to," I told him with a small smile. Why am I finding it so hard to smile.

"Perfectly ok. It's good to see you here for Sunday mass, I've been trying to get you in here for three years. Why are you here anyway, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Something happened yesterday, and I needed some advice from the big guy upstairs," I said, pointing up.

"That's understandable, but why did you leave before everyone else?" he asked, sitting on the twirly-chair behind his desk.

"Same reason I came in after everyone else, and sat at the back, I don't want anyone to know I'm here," I said, looking at my hands folded in my lap.

"Why?" Todd asked, "Everyone here loves you."

"I had a huge fight with Lenny this morning and I'm not quite up to facing him yet. Besides, I got a rep to consider."

"Ah, I see. So, did you get the advice you wanted?" he asked.

"No, not really, but I was hoping maybe you could rectify that…" I looked up at him to see him smiling. But, then again, this is Todd, he's always smiling. Taking that as a sign to continue, I told him the whole sob-story, at least the whole story with my mom lying to me, everything with Len, I just kinda skimmed over and told only the necessary facts. "Well, got anything?"

"Yeah, I do. First, you need to get everything with Lenny straightened out, because you'll probably need his support through this. Then you need to go talk to your mom, and decide what to do from there. If you want to find your real family, do that, if not, don't. It's as simple as that."

"So, nothing I didn't already know," I said disappointed. Sighing, I stand up and say "Thanks anyway, Todd. I'll se ya Wednesday." With that, I walked out the door, not really caring who saw me anymore and not paying attention to who else was even in the church, just absentmindedly saying "Hi" to anyone who greeted me and moving on.

Within two minutes I was out in the parking lot shutting the door of my car and about to put the key in the ignition. Just before the door got shut, someone grabbed it and held it open. I looked up to see Len standing there looking down at me with a concerned expression.

"Did you want something?" I asked, trying to be nice but still not over this morning.

All he said was "We need to talk."

"I know. Meet me down at the diner on Main in five." I said, yanking the door free of his grip and slamming it shut. Starting the ignition, I pulled out of the parking space and lot with a screech, not looking back to see if Lenny was even going to his car.

Ten minutes later we were sitting in a booth at the Main Street Café, giving our orders to Mindy, the waitress. After Mindy left, we sat silently, me studying our coffee intently, Len looking at me. After three or four minutes, Lenny said, "We really do need to talk about this, you know" breaking the silence.

"Yeah, I know," I said, still not looking up from my coffee. I can feel his eyes on me, and it's making me nervous.

We sat silently for another minute and a half before Len said anything. "Well, since you aren't talking, I guess I should start." Sighing, he seemed to collect his thoughts before continuing. " Look, knowing that you were keeping something from me hurt, especially since it's music oriented. We talk about music all the time, it's the topic of 75 of our conversations. I guess I just don't get why you wouldn't want me seeing or hearing your music."

Taking a deep breath, I know I owe him an explanation. So I give him one. "Because there are very few things I'm good at. I don't think music is one of those few things I can do well. How did you feel the first time you performed in front of a professional? I'm guessing that you felt like they would think you were bad because they were so good, and that you looked really bad next to them and felt really bad next to them. Am I right?" I asked, finally looking at him. Lenny nods. "Then you know how I feel right now. Even if I pass as marginally good at music, I feel like you'll think I'm horrible and for some reason not want to be around me anymore."

Lenny's about to say something, but we're interrupted by Mindy bringing our food. She refills our coffee cups and quickly hurries off to take another tables orders.

As soon as Mindy's gone, I go to pick up my fork and start eating, but Len starts talking before I can. "Why would I not want to be around you because of what you may or may not be good at? Whether you're a good musician or one that's really terrible, you're still my best friend baby girl."

As he calls me his best friend and 'baby girl' I flash to a song I wrote and recorded about a year and a half ago entitled "Those Things".

: All those things ya do to me,

Tell me ya don't see me for me,

Little sister,

Best friend,

Baby sitter,

When will it end?

When you do,

Those things you do,

And when you see,

That I can be,

A woman too!

You're you,

With those things you do,

Well I can do,

Some things too,

When you do,

Those things you do,

And when you see,

That I can be,

A woman too!

Got some tricks,

Up my sleeve,

So when we do,

Those things we do,

And when you have,

Things done to you,

You will see,

What it does to me,

When you do,

Those….. things you do….:

Maybe I should ask him not to listen to that one. Or not, since that'd be the first one he listens to. Sighing at the thought, I snap back to reality and realize he's still waiting for an answer. "Did you know, I always had this weird feeling that I somehow didn't belong with my family. Turns out I don't." I told him this, looking at my plate and picking at my hashbrowns with my fork.

"What are you talking about?" He sounds confused.

"See, I was filling out my info for an insurance application and they wanted a copy of my birth certificate. No big deal, right? So I make a copy of it, then get to actually looking at it. Do you know where I was born?"

"Kirkland, at Evergreen…" he says as if it's obvious.

"Nope. Turns out I'm from Los Angeles, California." I look up into his shocked face. "So, I get disgusted with the birth certificate and start looking through the rest of my file. The first thing I see is a packet of papers that say 'American Adoption Agency' at the top."

I'm near tears again. Seeing this, Lenny scoots out of his side of the booth and ducks around to mine, putting his arm over my shoulders, pulling me into his side. As I wrap my arms around his waist and bury my head in his shoulder, a few tears drop. I'm not sobbing like last night, but I'm crying nonetheless. A while later, I pull away from him a bit. Smiling, I say "Thanks" before giving him a peck on the cheek.

Weird place to end, I know, but this was getting a bit on the long side for my tastes.


	4. 4

Over the next three weeks, Lenny and Jade developed a routine. Jade would get up and get ready, then leave for work just as Lenny was getting up. Lenny would get home first, since they actually worked the same hours, his job was just closer. When Jade got home they'd eat then just do whatever. Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays, and for a few hours on Sundays, the rest of the band would come over and rehearse, then they'd have concerts on Fridays at clubs in Seattle. While the band was playing a gig, Jade was at races since she wasn't old enough to be in clubs.

Over the three weeks, Jade started moving her stuff into Lenny's on a more permanent basis. Courtney came over to visit when she could, usually on Saturday or Sunday after mass since she's still in school. Then Halloween came around. It's on a Saturday this year, and the church is doing it's regular overnighter. First, they'd meet up at the church and split into their groups for transportation, then they'd go through the corn maze. After that, everyone would go to Todd's house for pizza and cocoa. At 11:30 they'd leave and go to the bowling alley, where everyone would moonlight bowl until 2:00. After bowling was over, they'd go back to the church and pretty much just hang out. There'd be board games going, video games, movie and a few miscellaneous other activities all going at one time.

It was just supposed to be a fun thing for the teens and early-twenties people to go to socialize – with supervision of course – but it's more Jade. She'd first met Lenny at a Halloween allnighter. She'd ridden in his car and they'd kept each other from falling on their asses through the cornmaze; they'd beat each other at various games, then when they got tired, they'd curl up together under a big blanket and watch movies 'till Todd came through the sanctuary and have everyone put the pews back in rows at about 6:30 so they'd be ready for mass at seven. Jade always helps put the pews back then goes and sleeps in Len's car until mass is over, at which point they just go back to his house and crash in bed and sleep for hours. This year would be Jade and Len's third allnighter, and both were in high spirits when the day finally came.

Well, Jade was in high spirits – then she emptied out her backpack to use for the night and found a piece of paper at the bottom. That's when she remembered that she hadn't set her birth certificate down, but it had disappeared somewhere between running into her room and running back out. She simply stared at it. That one slip of paper that was sitting on top of her clothes where it had landed when she'd upturned the bag. Jade had no idea how long she just sat there, staring, but it ended abruptly when Len came into the room and asked if she was ready to go. She didn't even answer him, just looked at him then went back to staring at the paper.

"What's that?" Lenny asked, almost worriedly. He stepped toward the bed to look, then a sudden realization dawned on his face. He sat down on the bed next to Jade and asked, "Do you want to me here or not?"

After he didn't get an answer, he began to stand up to leave, when Jade whispered, "Stay. Please?" and looked at him with pleading eyes. He nodded. Jade reached out and pulled the paper to her, then they both started reading silently to themselves.

Certificate of Birth 

**For:**

**Desiree Jade Torretto**

**Mother:**

Yolandi O'Conner 

**Father**:

Antonio Torretto 

**Date of Birth:**

December 20, 1985 

**City of Birth:**

Los Angeles, CA 

**Delivered By: Dr. David Sorenson, MD Los Angeles County Hospital**

I know this is painfully short, but I can't think of anything to write that wouldn't sound cheesy after that little revelation. 


	5. 5

I find it kind of funny that the one reviewer that I've gotten so far only really acknowledged Jade's last name without looking at her parent's last names. Just a thought.

"Holy shit!" Jade said, staring at her father's name.

"What?" asked Len, thoroughly confused.

"My dad. He was an up and coming racer on the NIRA circuit, until Kenny Linder clipped him and sent him into a wall at a buck-twenty a few years back. That would mean my older brother is Dom Torretto, King of the LA racing scene. Wow." Jade answered, thinking about all she'd heard about Dominic Torretto… or her brother apparently. She knew he was fast, undefeated to this day but that was on wimpy Quarter-mile straight-aways, and he was something of a player, but was unendingly loyal to his long-time girlfriend, Letty Rodriguez. Jade could understand how that works, being loyal while still playing the field. She'd always be in love with Lenny, but that doesn't mean she would remain celibate until he pulled his head out of his ass and saw what was right in front of him.

"So, do you recognize your mother's name from anywhere?" Len asked, pulling her out of her thoughts.

"Her last name, yeah. Brian O'Conner. He was the cop on that case about a year and a half ago, you know, the truck jackings? Wonder if I'm related to him…" Jade was silent for a moment. "I'm not really up to facing everyone, so I don't think I'll go to the allnighter. You can go, but I not going to."

"No way I'm going without you. You're the only thing that keeps me sane through them. I like kids an' all, but that many ten year olds, all night, without you there for comic relief? No thanks." Len said.

"Then you might wanna call Todd, he'll wait for us otherwise," I told him. As he reached for the cordless phone on my beside table(there was one in every room), I got up and started putting the things from my backpack away. 'I am getting really tired of this, and it won't end for quite awhile, of that much I'm sure… one of the only things I'm sure about. God, I miss my boys. They'd know what to do.' I thought as Len got off the phone and we went into the living room to watch a movie.

$#$# A month and a half later, December 19th, 2002 #$#$

I'm at home doing nothing. It's Friday night, thus Len is at Chop Suey and won't be home for a few hours yet. Normally I'd be at races right now, but they were postponed until tomorrow because it'll double as the Seattle Underground's "Birthday Party For The Queen" as it had been dubbed two years ago, when I busted on to the underground scene. There was always almost three times the people there for my birthday party than normal race days because the whole underground saw me as royalty.

See, the underground around here is kinda weird. Instead of one King or Queen, there are sub-sections that all have their own set of royalty(king, queen, prince, princess, ect…). Each set of royalty is almost literally considered royalty among the rest of our little world. We know about everything that happens, have a say in some way or another, and people bow to our every whim.

I'm lucky that they don't stick the Holidays' Party with mine too, since my birthday is only five days before Christmas, but they tend to plan that closer to New Years, mostly to assure that all holidays are over and can all be celebrated at the same time as New Years. I'm actually petty excited this year about my party, my 16th and 17th were both on Fridays, so Lenny could never come, but he is this year. I'm excited, but also a bit unsure about Len coming, he's never seen me around my racer friends. And this year, I'm gunna let my hair down. It's pretty amazing that Len has never seen me "in my natural habitat" as he calls it. Point 1 is the king band of the underground music scene.

I talked to my mom the other day. It wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it would be. We talked everything out, and, though we aren't nearly as close as we were, our relationship is on the road to recovery. It's a slow process, but I just can't trust her as easily knowing she lied to me my whole life.

Work is going well, but it's a bit difficult for it not to go well. I'm a mechanic. And a bookkeeper. And a waitress, apparently, since the guys are unable to get their own food or drinks. When Mr. Jameson got sent to jail, the garage went to Jess, but him and Le skipped town pretty quick afterward, leaving the garage in my name, even though I was underage. I was devastated when they left. Those boys were my first, and my last, crew. My team. I haven't heard from them since they left, when I was 12 actually, except for when they sent me Cam (a battered and bruised Cam, but still Cam) for my 14th birthday. On my birthday, it just showed up at the garage one day with a note taped to the steering wheel that said, "Happy Birthday, Love, Your Boys". I know where they are, it wasn't exactly that hard to find them. I'm just too stubborn to contact them. If they don't want to have anything to do with me, then fine, they can have it their way.

'Ya, know, they're on Team Torretto, maybe I should just go down to LA, you know, two birds, one stone…' It wasn't a bad idea, but I don't want to come back to see some chaser-turned-wannabe in my place.

'I think too much' I thought, going in to get ready for bed. I have a long day tomorrow. First Mom wants me out there for a birthday breakfast, then I go to Todd's for a birthday brunch, then I have my annual party at Hooter's with all my friends (not a lot of those) for lunch, and after that I need to get ready for my big party, which I'm sure at least one-third of north-western Washington will be attending. All the presents… Actually, most people don't even get me presents. I get either cash or gift cards. Some CD's, several sets of car keys, some 'hot, new designer clothes' that I'll never wear most of, and some other miscellaneous stuff, but all that is from the other royalty or my close friends. Generally, I keep the CD's, sell the clothes I don't like on Ebay, and use the money to supe up the cars then sell them, and use the gift cards wherever they're from.

-- 7:00 the next morning --

I woke up to find Lenny sitting on my butt, since I sleep on my stomach, using my hair to tickle my lower back. "OK, I'm up, can you please move now?"

"Why would I want to do that?" Lenny asked, grinning evilly.

"Because, I don't care how heavy you are, I can still beat your ass. Plus, you won't get any food until I'm dressed, ready for the day, and at Mom's house," I told him matter-of-factly. Yes, I know that 'factly' isn't actually a word.

Hearing the words 'no food', Len jumped off me and ran out the door, closing it behind him, and yelling "Well, hurry up! We haven't got all day!"

Getting up, I snorted and grumbled "men and their food" under my breath. Taking my hair out of it's braid, I brushed it and began the painful process of cornrows. At least I only do them about three inches back on my head, I wouldn't be able to stand it otherwise. I had to stop pretty often to brush out the ends of my hair to keep it from becoming a rat's nest.

Thirty minutes later, I was looking at my clothes (all of which, except two changes that I keep in my car, are now in my room at Lenny's) trying to pick something that I could wear to all occasions and be appropriate and comfortable. It was a hard choice, but I made it. My Levi 518's (superlow, bootcut) and a black boatneck Harley Davidson shirt with my Mary-Jane-gone-punk chunky heels, and a black suede jacket. It fit the criteria. Comfortable around the Fam, conservative for the Pastor, tight enough for Hooter's, and then I be coming home to "get ready" for my party, but all I'm really going to do is re-apply makeup and perfume after checking Cam over.

Putting silver hoop earrings in my bottom holes, and a silver, ornate cross on a black cord around my neck, I stuffed the rest of my jewelry into one of my coat pockets before putting my wallet in my back pocket and hooking the chain to one of my front belt loops. Looking around, I quickly put my cell phone in a pocket and strung a leather, Indian-style decorated belt through the loops on my jeans. Making sure I have everything, I leave the room, not bothering with bringing makeup, since I kept the essentials in my car (eyeliner, mascara, lip gloss, the only things I'd have to touch up throughout the day).

Walking into the living room, Lenny jumped up saying "About time." He then pulled me over to the windowsill and sat me down. "Now I can give you your presents!" He looked so much like a little kid at Christmas that I couldn't help but laugh.

He reached under the tree by the window and pulled up three wrapped boxes. I automatically identified one as a jewelry box, but the other two could be anything. "The big two are from the whole band. Open mine first!"

So I did. And I found a beautiful chain bracelet encrusted with diamonds. "No, it's too much, take it back!" I said, shoving the box at Len.

"No, you won't spend any more than you have to on yourself, so someone has to spend money on you," he said, pushing my hand back toward me. I sighed, knowing he wouldn't relent on this.

"Then at least help me put it on," I asked, holding the box in my left hand and exposing my right wrist for him to put the bracelet on. "Thank you," I said when he was done, then leaned over and gave him a huge hug.

"No prob, now open the other two," he said, shoving the boxes my way.

Picking up the top one, I tore the paper off then took the lid off. Inside, there was an assortment of things. There was four more chains to attach to my wallet, all different lengths, several pictures in silver frames, mostly of her and the band, a couple of her with singular people or by herself, then there was a gift card to a local tattoo and peircing place, "Holes 'n Stains". Chuckling, I put the card in my wallet, attaching the chains at the same time, then set the box aside to put the pictures up later.

Opening the other box, I saw two packets of papers. As I looked through the first page of the top packet, my jaw dropped. I looked at Len and asked "Is this for real?"

"Yep," he answered, grinning broadly. In a move very unlike me (with my hair up), I squealed loudly and practically tackled poor Lenny. The band got a contract with Sony. They would be shooting a video after the first of the year. And they wanted me to be in it! Considering it was my favorite song on my favorite CD I was willing to risk national recognition. "Read the other one," he told me after a minute.

This packet of papers I'm not so happy about. It's a recording contract from Sony. For me! Glaring at Lenny for a moment, I turn to the back page to read the fine print. When I was done, I flipped to the back page of the first packet and read the fine print there. Calmly closing both packets and putting them back in the box, I set them on the floor with the box of pictures. At that point, I turned to Len and saw an anxious expression on his face. He had good reason to be anxious. I smacked him upside the head, pretty hard too. "What the fuck?! Putting that little loophole in there? What were you thinking?!" I yelled, waving my arms about wildly.

That's what I read in both fine prints. If I didn't agree to my contract, Point 1 loses theirs. If I even got the contract at all, that means Lenny played my CD's for a rep from Sony. If that loophole was put in both contracts, Lenny had played my music for the band as well. The rep I can handle, the band… not so much.

Not giving him a chance to explain, I asked, "What song did you play them?"

"Forgiveness" Len said quietly. Apparently he'd been expecting worse. "Forgiveness" is a song questioning organized religion done in a similar style to System of a Down's "Chop Suey".

"'Least it's one of my better ones," I say, sighing. I rub my eyes, then decide to let it drop for now. "Let's go." I say, grabbing my keys from the table by the door.


	6. 6

OH MY GOD IT'S AN UPDATE!

&&&&&&&&&&&

I can feel someone's eyes on me. Actually, I can feel a lot of people's eyes on me. That's what happens when you are up on a stool in the middle of a restaurant, dirty-dancing with a Hooter's girl. But I could feel one pair of eyes burning a hole in my back. I have no idea whose eyes they are, but I find myself dancing just a bit dirtier than I normally would (a hard feat, since I dance pretty damn dirty). As the song ends, I jump off the stool and hug Claudia (the Hooter's girl) then turn and walk back to my table to see Len looking at his menu.

'So it obviously wasn't him… then who was it?' I think, sitting on the stool and picking up my own menu.

"You're crazy." stated Jaz, my mom's assistant and a good friend of mine. Her son, who's 11, 12 in a few months, just grinned at me. I've been babysitting him since he was four. His favorite T-shirt is the one he got on his first-ever trip to Hooter's that says "My Babysitter is a Future Hooter's Girl". And he may be right, since a girl just quit due to college, so they're looking for someone to work part-time. I'm going to apply. With my rack, I have an advantage over most others that may apply. In school I may have gotten straight A's, but my most prized possession (attached to my person)is my straight D's. What, so I like to flaunt what I got, is there something wrong with that?

"Well, I gotta learn the songs if I'm going to apply for that part-time spot," I tell Jaz in my own defense.

"So you're finally going to be a Hooter's Girl?" Richard asks excitedly.

Everyone laughs as I tell him, "Ya, if I get the job I will be."

As the girls and cooks bring out my cake, I take it upon myself to start the birthday song. The whole restaurant sang with me.

:Hooter's has a birthday song!

(Hooter's has a birthday song)

It's not too short, it's not too long!

(it's not too short it's not too long)

Good news is we sing for free!

(good news is we sing for free)

Bad news is we're a bit off-key!

(bad news is we're a bit off-key)

Sound off!

(happy)

Sound off!

(birthday)

Break it down!

(happy birthday, to you!)

At the end I quickly blew out my candles and everyone cheered.

. 3:00 that afternoon .

We got home about an hour ago and I'm already done checking Cam over. My makeup is a work in progress, since it takes forever to get enough eyeliner build-up and enough layers of mascara to be what I consider 'acceptable'. I look around my room for something to do. Spying my laptop, I grab it and boot it up while I walk out to the windowsill, where I get the best wireless connection.

Logging on, I go to favorites, where I've saved a government webpage that allows me to change my name online. This website is a very convenient, since I don't have to go to the office and fill out a bunch of paperwork, just print out a form then go into the DMV to get my license changed. Within two months all my businesses, cars, bills, and any other thing you can think of will be under Desiree Torretto instead of Jade Henning. I changed the garage's name back in November from 'Jameson Automotive' to 'DT Automotive'- after going to the prison and asking Papi if he was ok with that, of course.

I can't wait until February. Papi gets out of prison. Then he'll go home and find out that Jess and Leon took the Jetta instead of their own cars, then he'll go down to LA and kick their asses. Actually, he'll probably go kick their asses anyway for just abandoning me like they did. Granted, I doubt Jesse really had a choice in the matter. I wouldn't be surprised if Leon (who is 2 years older than Jesse, who is 2 ½ years older than me) drug him off in the middle of the night to escape his guilty conscience. I don't see why Leon would feel guilty about sleeping with me though. Even if I was only 12, it was fully consensual; Hell, if anything I pressured him into it.

Oh well, I long ago gave up trying to figure out why they left. OK. Well, I'm done with changing my name, since the DMV is closed until the 27th. Now what to do? OOOOOh, I could go bug Lenny!

11:00 that night, at the party, outside Seattle, WA +

" Hide me!" Lenny whispers urgently while trying to make himself smaller to fit behind my back.

Chuckling, I say, "I warned you that the chasers were worse than the groupies and the gold-diggers."

"But you didn't mention that they were worse than the groupies and gold-diggers combined, times ten," He stated.

Around here, we don't use foul words like whore or skank to describe girls. Those were saved for the would-be cars. On the racing scene, they are racer-chasers, 'chasers' for short; on the music scene they're band 'groupies'; and on the marketing scene they are gold-diggers, normally just 'diggers'.

Patting Len on the head, I say, "Aaah, poor baby. Do you need me to make the chasers go away?" in my best baby-voice. He nods 'yes'. In a normal voice I tell him, "You probably won't like it, but it's the only way they'll leave you alone."

"As long as no one comes out of it thinking I'm gay, I don't care," Len states.

Smirking, I turn to face him and push him so his back is against my car. He looks shocked as I push myself flush up against him, putting my arms around his neck. Somewhere, deep down inside, I'm totally freakin' out, but I don't let that show. He's about to say something, but I cut him off. "If you want them to leave you alone, you'll have to play along," I murmur into his ear while standing on my tip-toes.

The girl inside that still has her hair up is shouting at me to stop, that Lenny would never go along with this, that it's a stupid idea, but I ignore her and start kissing up Len's neck. I'm pleasantly surprised to feel his hands on my hips. As I get to a spot just between his jawbone and ear I can feel a shiver go down his spine. Yay. I found his 'g' spot.

"Oh, get a room!" I hear Ricky say from behind me.

Smiling, I turn around and go onto flat-feet again. "'Bout damn time you got here, boy! Now we can start racin'!" It's true, Ricky was who I was waiting for.

Maybe you'd like a bit of insight. Ricky is Ricky Tran, and absolutely nothing like either of his cousins, Johnny and Lance. They came up here begging forgiveness and not only did Rick say 'no' but he said 'hell no!' and kicked their butts to the police station to be put in lockup for the attempted murder of Jesse Jameson (A/N: if anyone gets that name, I'll give them a cookie). While I'm the Queen, Ricky is the King; but I'm the supreme ruler, and he's ok with that.

For the rest of the night, I raced (and won, obviously), I got gifts from the adoring public ( please note the sarcasm), and played 'couple' with Lenny, who was happy to get away from the chasers.

$$ April, 2003$$

The last four months have gone by at warp speed. After we started playing 'couple' at my birthday, it's kind of like, Len and I just forgot to stop because it seemed so natural. After about a month of holding hands and kissing and damn near having sex- but not quite, because Len wants to wait 'till he knows it's going to be a serious relationship- we started going out on an official level, as in we discussed it and found out that we're both really good at acting, since we've liked each other since we laid eyes on each other and never figured it out until then. I ended up signing the contract, and I now spend quite a bit of time in the studio, both at home and at the Sony studio in Seattle.

We also recently started filming the video for 'Supermodel'. I never realized it took so many hours of filming to get a four-minute video. Naturally, my hair is down. I've been wearing my hair down a lot as of late, and I've found a happy medium between 'up' and 'down' personalities.

Papi has been out of jail for about two months. He's back living in his old house three doors down from Mom's house (how I met him, Jess and Le in the first place) and helping me run the garage two blocks over.

At the moment, Papi's actually running the place by himself, since Len and I are on our way to California for a month. The whole band is going for two weeks to get some footage for the video, but Len and I are staying for another two for various reasons. 1) a vacation, 2) for me to visit family, and 3) because my bio-parents both left something in their wills for me and I need to see their lawyers to find out exactly what.

"Best Western by the mall, right?" I ask Ted, the director, over the radio.

"Ya, but we shouldn't be there for five hours yet, why you askin'?" came the reply.

"Five hours? Try five minutes, I'm not even a mile away," I said, surprised they were that far behind.

"Well, baby, not everyone is as much of a speed demon as you, but I'm already in LA myself," said Len's voice. I love his voice. But, then again, I love everything about Len.

"When did you guys get so far ahead?" Erick asked. "I'm only three cars ahead of the van." The van has all the equipment in it.

"We got that far ahead every time you guys had to stop to pee and eat, since you couldn't all do it at the same place, but everyone had to stop whenever one person needed something," I say, glad that I'd get some time alone with Len before everyone else got here. "Well, I'm at the hotel, so I'll probably be gone by the time you slow old farts get here." I say as I pull into a parking spot in the garage across from the hotel. I was lucky and managed to get one on the ground level.

"OK, just show the reservation I gave you to the receptionist and you shouldn't have the problem," came Ted's voice sounding as if it took me pointing it out for him to realize that just about everyone had wasted a lot of time on the trip down.

"I'll be there in about twenty minutes," said Len.

"And we'll be there in about six hours," said Erick.

"Copy that. Over and out," I say, turning my radio off.

I grab my hiking backpack and two sports bags and cross the street after making sure I had my reservation and Cam is all locked up. I'm halfway through unpacking when I hear the door open. I look over to see Len walk into the room we're sharing and smile. He shuts the door, drops his two large bags at the foot of the bed and comes over to me, proceeding to kiss me like we haven't seen each other in a year, when, in all actuality, it's only been six hours.

A half hour later, we were both done unpacking and I was fishing a piece of paper with a few addresses written on it out of my back pocket, saying the only two words that would get Lenny out of the hotel room. "You Hungry?"


	7. 7

We were seated at a table in a nice little Italian restaurant called Cha Cha Cha, almost finished with our meals when I saw her pull up. She was still as beautiful as the day I watched her drive down the road, destination: as far away from me as Le could get her. Didn't quite work out that way, but, hey, what can you do. With her was a purple 240sx.

"You ok?" I hear Lenny ask.

"We gotta get out of here," I tell him, grabbing the bill and walking up to the checkout counter by the door, hoping to leave before there could be a confrontation. Just as the receipt was printing out and Len catching up to me, the door behind me opened.

I grabbed the receipt and pushed my way through the crowd of people walking in the door, keeping my head down. Twice my nose was assaulted with the familiar smells of my best friends, but I just kept going. I could hear Lenny hurrying in my wake, apologizing to people.

"Jade, what the hell is your problem?" a concerned Len asks me once we are out in the open. I glance back at the still-open door of Cha Cha Cha and see that the group of people was watching us curiously.

"Just get in the car Lenny," I tell him, not stopping.

I'm unlocking my door when I hear it. "No, Leon, I miss her, I'm not going to let her get away. Let go of me, Goddamnit!" I quickly get in and reach over to unlock the passenger door for Lenny. He opens the door, but doesn't get in.

"I'm not getting in until I get an explanation, J," Len says.

"I'll tell you back at the hotel, just get in," I say, frustrated.

"She obviously doesn't want to see us, man, let her go," I hear Leon say.

Len finally gets in, though he doesn't look happy about it. I tear out of the parking lot with a squeal, the same way I leave just about everywhere.

"Now, what the hell was that all about?" Len asks as we walk into our hotel room. I'd refused to say anything until we were far away from anyone who might recognize me.

"Some people I really don't want to see," I say, knowing he wouldn't accept that as an answer.

I was right. "And, why, exactly, don't you want to see them?"

"Because they're fucking pricks who left a twelve year old girl with a business to run because they were scared," I tell him, flopping down on the bed and covering my face with my hands. Flipping onto my stomach, I buried my face in the pillow. I felt Lenny sit down next to me on the bed and start rubbing my back. Turning my head to look at him, I try to reassure him, "I'm ok."

With a small smile he said, "Good." And leaned down to kiss me. We managed to keep ourselves occupied until everyone else showed up.

We were all eating dinner when I saw an interesting car pull up at the convenience store across the street. "I'll be right back," I tell the guys. Not waiting to find out if they heard me or not, I quickly walk out of the restaurant and cross the street. As I'm circling the black Honda 2000, with a plexi-glass hood to show off the immaculate parts, a Latino man walked up to me.

"Like what you see?" the man asked.

"Only for the simple fact that you can tell me when and where races are," I say, folding my arms and leaning against the car. The man smiled.

We didn't go up the main road. We were parked near the entrance to a side alley near the starting line. Everyone was there already, socializing before the races got underway. "Erick, come here," I say, watching Letty run chasers away from Torretto. I pull 5 grand out of my back pocket; Erick looks nervous. "Don't look so scared. Go up to Torretto, tell him he has a 5G challenge, show the cash. Don't point out my car if you can help it, don't tell him my name, and for the love of God, don't tell him I'm a girl," I instruct him, handing him the money and pushing him in Torretto's direction then getting in my car and pumpin' up the music.

My door is open and Lenny is standing between the door and the car, talking to Keith, the lead guitarist. That's a good thing. If Erick ends up pointing out the car, they'll think Lenny is racing- at least long enough to accept the challenge.

I watch from behind tinted windows as Erick walks up to Torretto. Torretto looks skeptical until the money comes out. He still looks slightly hesitant and I see Erick point us out. Seeing an old car seems to put Torretto at ease, for he nods his head and calls over the Latino man that gave me the stats for the races to apparently hold the money. Erick hands over the money and hurries back to us.

"All systems go," he tells me.

"Thank you, Erick," I say sweetly. Lenny leans down and gives me a good luck kiss and I start up my baby and head to the line. Pulling into the far right spot – Torretto's spot, I happily note – I turn my music to full blast just as 'Somethin's Gotta Give' comes on, then procede to turn on my NOS. As everyone else lines up, I compress my clutch halfway and shift into third then spit some flames out of my tailpipe.

_I feel so wonderful,_

_Living in disguise,_

_It hides me,_

_And keeps me from being satisfied,_

_I feel so comfortable,_

_Living with disease,_

'_Cause I have the killer of humanity,_

I see Torretto looking at me. He probably recognizes my car from earlier, but I know he can't see in my windows, so I'm not worried…yet.

_I've had it up to here with you,_

_You keep playin' me like a fool,_

_I'm hangin' on by a thread,_

_And the voices in my head say "Take it out on you"_

_I've had it up to here with you,_

_You keep playin' me like a fool,_

_I'm hangin' on by a thread,_

_And the voices in my head say "Take it out on you"_

_I'm sick of all you people and your contradictions,_

_You're all about filth,_

_You're all about fiction,_

_I'm fed up with your get up so put your head up_

_I'm fed up with your get up so put your head up_

_Somethin's gotta give,_

_OH! And it won't be me,_

The Latino man, who's name I now know is Hector, listens to something over his two-way the walks out to start us off.

_I feel so sensual,_

_When I close my eyes,_

_It hides me,_

_And keeps me from being happy inside,_

_I feel so wonderful,_

_Waiting here for you,_

_To use me,_

_Abuse me,_

_The way that you always do,_

_I've had it up to here with you,_

_You keep playin' me like a fool,_

_I'm hangin' on by a thread,_

_And the voices in my head say "Take it out on you"_

_I've had it up to here with you,_

_You keep playin' me like a fool,_

_I'm hangin' on by a thread,_

_And the voices in my head say, "Take it out on you"_

_I'm sick of all you people and your contradictions,_

_You're all about filth,_

_You're all about fiction,_

_I'm fed up with your get up so put your head up,_

_I'm fed up with your get up so put your head up,_

Time seems to slow as Hector's arms go down. I pop the clutch, and I'm gone.


End file.
